Whoa there, bossy. Both hoofs behind your head! If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounds like a cow arrest. It may appear silly to some and downright ridiculous to others, but in Van Buren county, it’s the law. Forget the war on drugs. Never mind health care issues. This is the big time: the crackdown on cattle.

According to the new law of the land, if a livestock owner is known to allow his or her animals on the highways three times in a six-month period, the local sheriff has the power to head ’em up and move ’em out. I understand a few officers are reserving the right to sing “Rawhide” while performing their duties.

After the cattle are collected and confined, the livestock owner receives word about the confiscation fee. The bill on the bovine violations comes to $10 per cow, plus a room and board charge that can add up to $25 a day. If the cattle make any long-distance phone calls or use pay-per-view during their stay, the owner must also cover those fees.

According to an article in The Des Moines Register, the law was designed by Van Buren county supervisors to solve the problem of broken fences. The cattle tend to stroll through the fence holes and out onto highways, causing potential traffic hazards for rural drivers.

My only regret about this new law is that it didn’t come sooner. Laugh if you will, but I have encountered a situation where a law against cows on the road would have saved much time and trouble.

The story you are about to hear is true. The people and cows involved are not actors. However, the name of the bovine in question has been changed to protect his privacy. As you read this account, decide for yourself the guilty and the innocent.

I grew up in a rural community. For you city folk, that translates to: less than two blocks away from my house (which is in town) rests a farm complete with several barns, horses, turkeys, chickens, pigs and most definitely cows.

Anyway, I’m driving home, and suddenly I spot a cow in the driveway of the farm house, about five feet away from the street. The cow was not shaken by the sight of my blue Buick, but it instead looked at the car with a calm and steady gaze. He appeared to be waiting to cross the road. However, this observation is only assumed, as the cow and I did not converse at this time.

I decided to roll down my power window to alert the town of the cow’s un-fenced presence.

“Cow loose! Cow loose!” I hollered. My announcement wasn’t heard by anyone in particular. Actually, alerting the town was really just a poor excuse for rolling down my window on a warm spring day.

The cow simply stared. No response or mooing was observed. To this day I do not know where he was going or exactly what business he had standing on the side of the road unattended.

Two blocks later I was home, making great efforts to roll my power window back up. It refused to budge. Holy cow, was I in trouble! Who would’ve thought I’d create such a problem trying to help the town? The next morning my older sister and I drove 15 minutes to get to school with a plastic bag covering the broken window, rustling obnoxiously in our ears the entire way.

I, of course, held the cow responsible.

The crisis could have been avoided if the cow law had been in effect. The efforts of legislation were too late to save my hide, but perhaps this new law will protect others from experiencing similar frustrations.

Help do your part by making a citizen’s arrest on any cattle running amuck in your community. Best of luck to Van Buren county and its moo rule.

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Joanne Roepke is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Aurora.